


aftemath of my naivety

by EllaYuki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Episode Related, Episode: s13e23 Let the Good Times Roll, Gen, Jack pov, Nougat Son is Sad, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaYuki/pseuds/EllaYuki
Summary: Jack tries to deal with the aftermath of Lucifer's betrayal and Dean's sacrifice.





	aftemath of my naivety

**Author's Note:**

> Did I ever mention I SUCK AT TITLES? Because I really, really suck at titles.

It… hurts.

Like nothing before, it hurts. Every inch of his body hurts. Even... even breathing hurts. He supposes this is what being human really is like.

He looks down at what’s left of Lucifer, the blood on his shirt, the burnt outlines of his wings, and doesn’t feel much of anything. He’s upset, yes, because he’d thought… well, it doesn’t matter now what he’d thought. But other than that, there’s nothing, really.

Other things hurt more.

Sam trying to sacrifice himself for him hurts more. His inability to kill Michael, leading to Dean letting himself be possessed hurts more. Being unable to save anyone hurts a hell of a lot more. Lucifer dying? Doesn’t hurt at all, especially compared to everything else.

He looks at Sam, at how hard he’s trying to hold back his tears, and feels even more powerless.

‘You idiot,’ Sam mutters, mostly to himself. For a second, Jack thinks Sam might mean him, or maybe Sam himself. But then, ‘Dean, you damn idiot,’ he says and the pain in his voice is nothing Jack has ever heard from Sam before. Carefully, tentatively, he reaches a hand out and touches Sam’s arm. It’s the only bit of comfort he knows how to offer.

Sam closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Then he wipes his face and turns to face Jack. Tries to smile and fails miserably.

‘We should,’ he starts and then stops for a moment, his gaze caught on something behind Jack. Lucifer’s body, most likely. A look Jack can’t decipher passes over Sam’s face, there and gone in moments, before Sam looks back at Jack. ‘We should see where we are and try to get back to the bunker,’ he finishes.

Jack nods, squeezes Sam’s arm once more, then lets go. Yes, they should go home, rest, and maybe find a way to get Dean back from Michael.

 

~

 

It takes them about four hours to get back because the church Lucifer took them to was close to Clinton Lake according to Sam (who, for some reason Jack didn’t understand, thought it was ironic. Jack will have to find out why that is later).

The bunker is quiet.

There’s not much of a sign of what had occurred there a few hours ago and Jack doesn’t know why, but he finds it a bit… unnerving.

They find Castiel sitting alone in the kitchen, a broken look on his face, and it takes him a moment to react to their presence. When he does, though, he hugs them both, hard, hard enough that Jack feels is ribs creaking. ‘You’re alright,’ he hears Castiel mumble, chocked, against his shoulder.

‘Cas,’ Sam says, quiet, heartbroken. It hurts Jack to hear it. ‘Cas, what happened? Why did Dean…?’ And he stops there, seemingly unable to finish the sentence. Cas steps back, sits back down in his chair and there’s something about him, about his face, about the way his body just slumps, that somehow reminds him of Dean in those days when they all thought Castiel was dead.

‘Why do you think?’ he says, and it sounds like he’s forcing himself to push the words out. ‘Lucifer had you and Jack, and Dean felt like he had no choice but to… to make a deal with the devil, so to speak, to get the two of you back.’

And for some reason, that hits Jack harder than he ever thought it would. He knows Dean has stopped hating him, he knows that the older Winchester has taken him under his wing and started to think of him as family, and yet still, it comes at a surprise to hear that part of Dean’s sacrifice had been because of him.

He looks down at his hands and forces down the knot in his throat.

 

~

 

It’s late in the evening when he finally retreats to his room, heart heavy. He feels weary and drowsy and tired to his very marrow, and he hopes, desperately, that his nightmares won’t plague him for the next few hours.

Castiel has healed his wounds (and how strange had that felt, someone else healing him when his body wouldn’t do it on its own anymore, how weird and how frustrating and how… Jack doesn’t even know…), his and Sam’s both, but the bone-deep, soul-deep pain from having had his Grace taken from him is still there. It’s like a hole, an emptiness that Jack doesn’t know how to fill. Maybe he never will.

The bunker is still quiet. _Too_ quiet. Too _empty_. Jack hates it, hates the way it gnaws at the back of his mind, makes him toss and turn and toss some more, and won’t let him fall asleep.

His powers are gone, Dean is gone, Sam and Castiel and Mary are sad, and Jack can’t do anything about any of it.

And he hates it.

When he finally, finally manages to fall asleep, there are wet tracks marring his face and his heart is still in his throat. 

And the nightmares are worse, so, so much worse.

 


End file.
